Then Everything Happens at Once, page 22
She sent that hours ago.
[Baylee] I don’t know. He confuses me.
[Pen] Huh?
[Baylee] What did you mean when you told Blake it’s hard to tell him off now?
[Pen] What does it matter? You wouldn’t really understand.
[Baylee] I might. Him and his friends . . . they used to make fun of me all the time.
[Pen] Yeah well, that’s Garrett. He used to call me Steve.
[Baylee] Why is he different now?
[Pen] I don’t know. I’m not sure I buy it.
[Baylee] He says it was all just jokes.
[Pen] Well I wasn’t laughing. I used to wish he’d get hit by a car and bust both his legs.
[Baylee] I used to daydream about him becoming an orphan and having to move in with a really evil aunt.
[Pen] That’s pretty creative, dude.
[Baylee] Thanks.
Pen doesn’t respond.
[Baylee] I can tell you don’t like me.
[Pen] I’m just watching out for my friend. You get that, right?
[Baylee] Yes.
I go through my moisturizing routine while thinking about Alex. I don’t know how to fix things to make it so Pen isn’t right about me, right about needing to look out for Alex. Am I doing something wrong? Am I breaking any rules?
Rianne sends Lara and me a photo of her grandparents in her living room, which is the most wholesome thing ever.
I kill the next few hours creating an elaborate scenario where I run into Garrett on the walkway, and we get into some kind of conversation where truths are revealed. No matter how much I try to control it, the scenario always ends with him giving me a look, and me knowing exactly what that look means. That feeling I get is why I replay the moment a few times. Then I move the scenario along, Freddie appearing at the end of the path to take me away, leaving Garrett feeling like he totally missed out. I just keep rewinding to the intense parts and replaying them.
I know there are some iffy elements about this particular scenario, some things that aren’t exactly healthy, but I’m too addicted to feeling like this. And if it’s all in my head, then it’s safe.
[Alex] Hey. ☺
[Alex] I didn’t, um, freak u out with the whole long-distance relationship thing yesterday, did I? I don’t know why, but I’ve had this feeling like maybe we should talk about stuff.
[Baylee] I’m not freaked out. ☺
[Alex] OK because to be honest I’ve been kind of thinking about the relationship stuff.
[Baylee] Really?
[Alex] Yeah. Have u been thinking about that?
[Baylee] Um. I don’t know how to answer that question.
[Alex] U and me. Do u think about where it could go?
[Baylee] Yes.
[Alex] What if I wanted u to be my gf?
[Baylee] !!!
Oh. My. God.
[Alex] NO WAIT. Don’t answer. This was so wrong of me. Can we video chat later so I can do this properly, like a gentleman?
[Baylee] Yes!
This is the most important, most precious question I’ve ever been asked—or will be asked.
Thirty-Six
Missing Alex’s video-chat call was an honest mistake—I was in the shower. Not calling back, though—that was intentional. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the reality of seeing Freddie again, doing what we did last night, feeling the sensations I felt. Having this call with Alex will make it official. I would officially be doing something really wrong.
So I’m dodging important conversations and I’m sneaking out again just so I can have sex.
How is it that I can simultaneously think it’s the most amazing thing ever while knowing full well that it’s wrong? Totally wrong.
Later that night, while I’m secretly tucked away in Freddie’s garage again, he grabs my hand and pulls me to him. I hold myself up, flashing on that one episode of a crime show I saw as a kid where this very fat girl smothered a guy to death by lying on top of him. “I’m going to crush you.”
“You’re not gonna crush me. Stop it.”
I let him kiss me, let the feelings and sensations wash over me. This right here is why I’m a terrible person. I’d rather have this than be a noble, law-abiding person.
I am sex-crazed and I literally don’t even feel bad about it.
What is wrong with me?
I just need time.
Even if it’s not really a perfect, sexy situation from start to finish. Even if it’s downright awkward at times because of the way I internally cringe at my own behavior, at the way I must look to anyone looking in. Even if sometimes we get tangled up in each other, or someone makes a weird noise, or one of us bumps our head—it’s still amazing. It makes me feel like I own every part of me. There are vibrations running through my body for hours after I leave Freddie, and for those few hours, I know I deserve to feel like this. I’m allowed.
On the bed next to me, Freddie’s phone lights up with a text. A text from Lara.
“Oh, wow. Awkward,” I say, pushing him away from me.
“What?” he says, then he notices his phone. “No, this is not what you think it is.”
“You’re not still . . . feeling Lara out, are you?”
“No. You are the only one I’m feeling out.”
“Well, what’s that about, then?”
He lies next to me, holding his phone up above him, and swipes the text away. “She won’t stop texting me.”
“Yes, well, that would be Lara’s MO.”
“Is she going to stop?”
“Not if I’m not there to take the phone away.”
“Ah, so this is your fault, then,” he says.
“It’s actually all your fault.”
“I don’t think so. If you’d been a little more obvious about things, well, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we? We could’ve been doing this, and I wouldn’t have been leading anyone on.”
His words hit something in me.
“I think I might be leading someone on,” I say finally.
He flips onto his stomach. “Really? You’re seeing someone still?”
“It became strictly virtual when all this rona stuff got bad,” I say. “It’s just hard because, well, she’s not here, you know?”
“Um, hold up,” he says. “You’re seeing a girl? Do I know her?”
“No, you do not.”
He stares at me like he’s seeing someone different in front of him, like he’s searching for answers in my face to the new questions my revelation sparked.
“Did you promise her anything?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
He nods. “Are you trying to tell me we’re done?”
“What if I was?”
He sighs and rolls over, sits up on the side of the bed. “Well, this sucks.”
Being with Freddie used to be so uncomfortable. It was all performance, lies, and restrictions. I was so angry all the time, trying to balance this huge ball of feelings and desires. So much desire that I didn’t know what to do with. And now everything is different.
He’s the only one I tell the truth to. He’s the only one I’m real with. Or rather, the person I become when I’m with him feels like a closer match to who I am on the inside. It feels like when I’m with him, I turn into the version of myself in photos taken at the perfect angle.
“Why? Why does it suck?” I ask. “That’s not supposed to be, like, accusatory. I just want to know. Truly.”
“This—me and you—I like it.” He sighs again. “I know you. I like hanging out with you, and I really like doing this with you.”
“What if we go back to school next week?” I ask.
“Doesn’t change anything.”
“It would be a big secret at school, then I’d come over at night?”
“It wouldn’t have to be a secret,” he says.
My breath catches, and I let the silence hang for a moment.
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean,” he starts, “you and me . . . we could just be you and me.”
“At school?” I say. “Around other people?”
“Bay,” he says, looking back at me. “I know what you’re getting at. I don’t give a shit what other people think of me and what I like. Who I like.”
I pause, mouth open slightly, letting his words settle around me. In the next thirty seconds of silence, I picture it all: him driving me to school, walking in the halls hand in hand, going to the movies together or to Hot Mugs.
It leaves me feeling overwhelmed. It’s too big, too much. This garage, this private thing—that’s what I want. I’m not sure about anything else.
“I guess you’re into someone else,” Freddie says, watching me not say anything back to him. “That sucks . . . for me.”
“Freddie?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“I just want to hang out like this,” I say. “With you. That’s it.”
I don’t want to think about later, about the idea of being someone’s girlfriend, about what’s going to happen tomorrow when I have to deal with this mess I made.
So I kiss Freddie, and the talking stops, the words getting lost in the background.
Later, after Freddie runs inside very carefully to grab us some water, I watch him vape next to me.
“Freddie?” I ask, and he looks over at me. “When did you start thinking about this—me and you?”
“A while ago,” he says, and he must see by the look on my face that I’m not ready to have him leave it at that. “I thought about it through the years, but honestly, I kind of felt like you didn’t even see me like that. I was not catching any vibe from you at all.”
“I really am a phenomenal actress,” I say. “You seriously thought about me before?”
He nods. “But then that day you flipped out on me outside JJ’s—that was like . . .” He lets out a grape-scented breath. “Yeah, then I was really thinking about it.”
“Do you want to know when I started thinking about you that way?” I ask, and he hitches his chin up at me to go on. “First week of Grade Seven.”
He laughs. “Seriously?”
“Maybe.”
“You were thinking about this kind of thing in Grade Seven?”
“Sort of. Well, not all this stuff.” I gesture to the messy sheets. “But some age-appropriate stuff.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“So you could laugh at me?”
“I wouldn’t have laughed, Bay,” he says. “I would have been very shocked, though.”
I shrug in a way that I hope makes me seem cute.
It’s almost five a.m. by the time I decide I’d better get going. Freddie’s nearly asleep next to me. I shake him awake by pushing on his bare bicep, taking my time, letting the touch linger. He makes some kind of moaning sound and yawns.
“I’m going to go.”
“No. Just stay.”
“Come on, Freddie. We’ll get killed by our mothers.”
“No, we won’t.” His voice is all slurred, laced with sleep. “Stay and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”
“Freddie,” I whisper, tapping him on the shoulder to wake him again. “This romantic crap is killing the mood.”
He starts laughing into the pillow, pushing himself up. “Shut up. I would’ve poured you cereal. It wouldn’t have been all that romantic.”
I slip into my shoes, feeling a little wobbly on my feet. Freddie lifts the garage door carefully, and I step out into the night.
“I’ll walk you home,” he says.
“It’s like, five minutes away. It’s pretty much daylight. It’s fine.”
I start walking, trying to minimize the clicking of my heels so as not to disturb the silence. Freddie walks with me to the path. The sky is a very dark blue with the five a.m. light.
“Okay, go home,” I whisper when we get to the walkway. “We could get caught.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Text me when you’re home, okay?”
This time I do something different: I’m the one who leans in for a kiss instead of waiting for him to do it. It lingers on until I start thinking he’ll ask me back to the garage, so I pull away.
“I have to get home before my mom wakes up to let out the night nurse.”
We go our separate ways, and I come out of the walkway onto my street, a wide smile on my face. I pull the robe and slippers out, ready to throw on my disguise.
Just as Garrett steps out of the shadows.
Thirty-Seven
He was standing next to the big tree at the end of the path. I walked right by him without noticing. He’s smoking a joint, staring at me with a funny look on his face. There are more than two meters between us, but still, I take a few steps back.
“Hi, Garrett,” I say.
“What’s up, B?”
“Just on my way home.” I feel weird throwing on a bathrobe, so I stop after slipping one arm through. “What are you doing out this early?”
“I haven’t gone to bed yet. This is my middle-of-the-night smoke spot. My mom won’t let me smoke weed on the property anymore, so I take a walk. The quiet is nice, am I right?”
“I guess.” I feel for my house key, avoiding his gaze. “Okay, well . . . bye.”
“Hey—wait!”
There’s weirdness in the air. This whole scene looks bad, feels bad.
“See? I called it, didn’t I?” he says.
“Called what?”
“You’re his side chick. Or maybe his main chick?”
I meet his gaze, not sure what I see reflected in his. There’s nothing I can think of to say. I feel shame creep up from my feet. Garrett’s face is blank. My heart skips a beat as anxiety spreads through me. He reaches for his phone, and I’m convinced he’s about to message Pen about this.
Alex will find out.
“Garrett, please don’t say anything.”
“Say anything to who?”
“Nothing. No one.”
“Oh, to Pen, you mean?”
“Don’t. Please.”
“It’s a big secret, then, huh?” he says, puffing away. “So you’re the side chick. Or wait—wait a minute. You have a side chick, am I right?”
I hop out of my shoes and scoop them up with two fingers. I run barefoot all the way home.
When I reach for the door handle, it opens without my having anything to do with it.
Dawn stands there, mask over the bottom half of her face. Still, the shock of being confronted by me on the other side of the door is in her eyes, and she lets out a little yell.
“Oh my god,” she says, trying to catch her breath.
Mom appears behind her, looking half-asleep. As she notices it’s me, the drowsiness vanishes from her face. “Where were you?”
I have no shoes on, my bathrobe is only on half my body, my hair probably looks like I’ve been doing exactly what I’ve been doing. My mother keeps asking me where I was, and I can’t seem to get myself to step inside the house, so Dawn stands awkwardly between us.
“Baylee,” Dawn whispers, grabbing my arm. “Just be honest.”
Mom’s eyes drill through me, but she backs up to sit on the stairs. I let Dawn pass, and she squeezes my arm before leaving. I step inside, closing the door behind me.
“I was with Freddie.”
“You were with Freddie? What does that mean? You’ve been there since when?”
“Since . . . a while.”
“Were you two out? What were you doing? Who were you with?” Mom’s tone rises, but she reels it in. “Did you go to a party? Please explain it to me.”
“I was in his garage. It was just him. No one else.”
“So you’ve been sneaking out to go see him?” she says. “You’re lying and sneaking off into the night? Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m not just standing on his lawn, two meters apart, when I go see him.”
Her eyes roll up to the ceiling when the understanding settles over her. She rubs her face, taking a couple of deep breaths. “So you and Freddie—you’ve been lying to me about that?”
I don’t know how to respond.
“Freddie and Lara were supposedly in love a few weeks ago. Was that a lie, too?”
“They weren’t in love. They were just . . . talking. It ended up being nothing—”
Mom holds a hand up to silence me. “Baylee, you know how vital it is that we follow the rules. You said you understood, so how come you’re sneaking out in the middle of the night to do god-knows-what with a guy? How stupid can you be?”
“I’m sorry.”
Even I can hear how weak that apology was.
“Baylee Kunkel.”
“Yes.”
I worry there’s some of Garrett’s weed scent on me. His face pops into my mind. He’s going to tell Pen, and she’ll tell Alex. And now I can never see Freddie again.
I might possibly be losing everything right now, all in one go.
“Are you listening to me?” Mom asks, pushing to her feet.
“I’m trying to.”
“Do you understand that people are dying? Your sister could die because of you.”
“She’s not going to die,” I say. “No one’s going to die. Stop it!”
I kick off my shoes, pretty much deciding that I will not be listening to the things my mother wants to hurl at me. This is the wrong time. My head is already full of other considerations.
“Don’t you dare walk away,” Mom says as I try to get past her on the stairs.
“What? What do you want, Mom?”
“Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you see how careful I am when I come home after being around other people? Do you see how long it takes for me to disinfect everything?” She’s gesturing to the makeshift sanitizing station she’s set up by the door. The one I walked right past without using, because I forgot. “Then I run up to take a shower—every time. Do you even care?”
“Yes! I care. But he’s one person, Mother. I haven’t seen anyone else, and he hasn’t either.”
“I’m going to be calling Sheila, and we’re going to have a long discussion about this. You and Freddie won’t be the ones paying the price for your stupid decisions—we will. Your sister will. His sister could, too.”
